


Early 'White Marble' Smut

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Closet Sex, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Light Pain Play, Simultaneous Orgasm, Vaginal Sex, fem!dom, imperfect sex, might change that part in the edit, minor interruption, minor jealousy, minor misunderstanding, no protection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 03:25:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17134103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: Happy holidays. Early smut I wrote for White Marble.The last chapter (as yet unposted), Zevran killed someone Kit told him not to. Now he thinks his goose is well and truly cooked. He's never been so happy to be wrong. First-time sex for Kit/Zev!





	Early 'White Marble' Smut

**Author's Note:**

> Jumping ahead in White Marble because Tumblr is unstable and I wanted to answer a Discord question without posting the whole thing there. I'll fix this chapter and put it into White Marble when I get this far. (If you want more, follow THAT fic, not this one.) 
> 
> Mostly you need to know that this is a Cyberpunk AU... with broom closets and miscommunication and mistakes. It's not all sleek and slick like some Cyberpunk AUs you've seen. (But those are fun, too.) Also, Zevran is very clearly interested in Kit.

“I find myself unable to apologize sincerely, Joyela. She could have killed you.” Zev says as he holds Wynne’s head for the elfroot potion.

“I will talk to you later,” is all Kit says. Her face has a new expression: tightly controlled for once, far too bland but not detached. He cannot read it.

Once she recovers, Wynne uses her staff to lavish healing nanites on Morrigan and Alistair. Kit helps Wynne collect nano for her staff and Morrigan’s.

“I _hate_ when you make sense," Alistair says as the argument concludes. "I’m pretty sure you’re leading me to sin.”

Morrigan blinks to disguise her wide-shocked eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Zev would snicker if Kit would look at him. As it is, he’s too miserable.

On their way back down to the camp, Alistair pulls him aside. “What happened when I was knocked out? She won’t even talk to you.”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,” Zevran says. _Could I have saved that templar? Not without sacrificing Kit._

Alistair raises his hands. “I skipped a part, didn’t I? Sorry. I thought I was guarding her against you, but she’s right, you’re guarding her. Maker. We need to work together, and if she’s not talking to you that changes things.”

When had it become this devastating, the idea that Kit might hate him? But he cannot apologize for killing that templar, not when it nearly killed her.

They arrive at camp, clean up with buckets of water and rags, usually Zevran’s favorite part of the day. They eat beans and rice with carrots, basil, and one of the jars of tomatoes, which the older kids prepared while they were out.

“Zev,” Kit snaps, finishing her food shortly after he does. “Private conference. Now.”

Zev hangs his head. Well, she spoke to him. He follows to a side closet. This is odd, but it offers privacy. At least she won’t chew him out in front of everyone. _It is actually pretty dark in here. Well, there is light from the—_ Kit slams the door closed behind him. It is totally dark, but Zev feels her hands scrabbling at his collar, pulling him down…

And kissing him.

It’s hard, and desperate, all tongue and unpleasantly clacking teeth and surprise and glory. She smells like fall. After his initial surprise, he kisses back equally hard and wraps his arms around to pull her closer. She brakes off.

“Thank you.” She is panting, Maker help him.

“What?” Zevran has lost his silver tongue. Perhaps she stole it. He leans closer. Perhaps he will have to steal it back. “I thought you were mad I killed the last templar.” He is short of breath, too.

“No,” Kit says, pulling him down to touch their foreheads together. She smells like an apple orchard at harvest time. “No, she would have killed me. I was stupid. I should have gotten out of the way.”

Zev shakes his head, turning hers too with his forehead. “That demon would have healed. It’s what it wanted, you dead or the daggers out. You hit the chip just in time.” He tilts his head to taste her sweet kiss, savoring her moans against his mouth. “I should be thanking you. I bit off more than I could chew with that pair. Because of you, I could make my shot, no?”

“Zevran.” Kit leans back against the wall, pulling him tight and rolling her hips forward. “I know of a great way we could thank each other.”

Zev chuckles into her ear and presses his thigh between hers. “We’re wearing too much clothing.”

“Fuckin’ right we are,” Kit says. She pulls his shirt over his torso. He lets go of her so she can pull it over his head, then disentangles his arms while she distracts him with hands running over his chest and stomach. He pulls at her shirt, but she keeps her hands on him. He squeezes her ample breast, still covered by her bra, and she arches away from the wall. He slides his other hand behind to unfasten her bra to slip under and tease her nipple. Her breath comes in a sharp gasp. She must have lost track of her hands on his chest: he gets the shirt over her head. He can’t see, but he can feel her skin. A scar. Smooth skin. Rounded breast. Peaked nipple. Pressing her against the wall again, he bends low to tease the nipple with tongue and teeth.

“Zevran.” The sound of his name on her breath is intoxicating. His head spins as her fingers twine in his hair. She pulls him closer, pressing his mouth to her breast. He suckles it eagerly, enjoying the arch of her against him. All that muscle, the power of her. He remembers she was a biker and imagines, not for the first time, those powerful thighs wrapped around him, tightening. He grunts and scrabbles for her pants. Her hands claw down his back to his belt. She pulls him up, and he realizes he’d sunk to his knees to reach her. He stays crouched as they scrabble at each others’ belts, but it’s not working.

“I’ll get mine, you get yours,” he mutters in her hair.

“Agreed,” she pants.

They break apart. Zev concentrates on removing his pants. He unfastens them, shoves them to his ankles, removes one foot, but they turn inside out and follow. In the dark, he lifts it further trying to pull free. He hits a broom. “Shit!” Zev crashes into a series of brooms, then a wall. _Real graceful, Zev._ The brooms run into mops and from the sound of it at least one empty bucket. He's on the floor, but a pair of pants land on his head.

“At least I know where you are,” Kit says. _She’s naked._ He can’t see her, but the knowledge is enough to drive him lusty with anticipation. He’d forgotten his boots, but clearly she has more foresight than he. She finds him and kneels across his hips.

“And here I was hoping for you against the wall,” Zev jokes, but he is recovering fast and fuck is he ready. Her hand runs up his thigh to caress his balls and ghost over his cock. He hisses and presses his back against the broom-handled wall. “Oh, fuck, yes. Have you been thinking about this the whole time we were in camp?”

“Yes. I want you in every way.”

“I don’t know if I can do _every_ way in a closet.” Zev pulls her close enough that he can lick her nipples again. She settles across his lap, pressed against his length, moist and hot. He groans low as she slides up.

There is a loud knock on the closet door. “Is everything okay in there?” comes Alistair’s voice.

Kit snaps her head to shout at the door: “Fuck off, Alistair, I’ve got it covered.” Then she hisses as Zev twitches against her clit. 

“I love when you get violent,” Zevran purrs throatily but loud enough for Alistair to hear.

“Ri-Right. I’ll just be – over here, then.”

Kit turns to scratch down Zevran’s front. He hisses and groans, squirming against her heat. “Have I told you how much I want this?” The stone tile is contrasting cold against his ass.

“Yes,” she says, lifting away from him. “Can you hold back?” She hovers, pressing his tip against her entrance.

“With you? I’ll do my best but promise nothing.”

She pauses to consider. “Fuck I want it too much; let’s give it a shot.”

Hot slick pressure pleasure shooting through his body. She is here. _She_ is here, deadly and _his_ for this moment and he’s not cumming yet. He wraps his hands over her ample ass. She lifts it and moans as she lowers herself over him again. He pulls her onto his hips, so her clit grinds against him as she rides him.

“Yes, oh, Zevran. Unh. Oh, sssshit.” He can hardly move from here, but he can run his hands over her. She tightens when his hands return her ass, so he kneads it, finding the perfect place where her ass met her legs for the best moans the most enthusiastic movement.

Then she clenches all around him, arched back, and squeezes out a bitten-back “Aaaah!” He wants to hear her sweet sounds but remembers others outside the closet. Panting, he supports her back as she arches. Her nails claw down his chest harder, and he follows her over the edge, growling low and driving her shaking onto him again. As he cums, he curls his hips up into her, the flow of his orgasm taking over his body. He still holds her hips but lets his body curl like a bow. It has been too long since he’d felt this sweet release. He savors it, feels her body moving against his, both surrendering to the pleasure.

He holds her as she catches her breath. He’s slumped against the closet wall, broom handles unpleasantly digging into his back. Unpleasant for the first time since Kit’d ghosted over him with a light lover’s touch.

“Did-Did that just happen?”

“No,” Kit laughs. “We did that. It didn’t just happen on its own.”

“I am so fucking lucky. You are marvelous.”

“So you might be willing to try again sometime?” There’s a smile in Kit’s voice.

“Hmm, do you think you’ll have something else to thank me for?” Zevran can’t suppress his own smile in the dark. 

"Am expecting a lot of thanking all around." 

### Zevran POV

“Ready?” Kit says in the dark.

“Open the door and I’ll check,” Zevran replies.

Maker, she looks glorious. Kit is clothed again, but she definitely has that ‘just-fucked’ look about her. Her cheeks have a healthy glow, her hair is horribly mussed. Zevran unsmudges her blue lipstick while she wipes it off his face… and neck. He flattens the worst lock of her hair, but he doesn’t bother with more.

“Paragons, you look bruised from my lipstick. Where’s your cell?” she mutters as she combs the fraying braid out of his hair. When she tugs him down to re-do the braid, he catches her hand.

“It will do,” he says. “You can re-braid it at the cookpot if you wish. And your hair is perfect, but I will give you my cell if you prefer.”

She smiles. “I’m not used to sex with fellow fighters. I always looked outside the Carta in Orzammar.”

“Mmm,” he says pleasantly and kisses the knuckles of her captured hand. “Do you like it?”

“Fade, yes,” she says. “With you, I like it.”

He smiles and releases her hand. “After you, milady.” He drops into a ridiculous bow, gesturing to the nearest gap in the stacks of supplies. He glances up to waggle eyebrows at her.

She snorts, hands on hips. “I’m no lady.”

“No?” Zevran says, “And here I was hoping to watch those swaying hips on our way.”

“You get plenty of chances to leer at me in the Tower,” she chides. “But I’m in a good mood. If it makes you happy, I’ll lead the way.”

“I’m not sure ‘happy’ is the perfect word for how I feel when I watch you move,” he says as he follows her.

“What, already?” she says, picking her way through the boxes.

“Joyela,” Zevran says chuckling, “you have left me well satisfied. But there’s no harm in saving for next time, yes?” He savors the sight of her motion and the memory of how that body felt against his. Well worth it, even if she regrets her offer.

She tosses a glance over her shoulder at him. “None,” she says, grinning again. So that wasn’t just post-coital generosity. He chuckles.

“Oh, good, a joke!” Alistair says as Kit settles by the cookpot. Alistair’s voice is light, but his glance seems worried as it hops between Kit and Zevran, who drops on the floor next to her. As Zevran settles, Alistair’s expression calms to concern. “Care to share with the rest of the class?”

“No,” Kit says, sneering at him and running her fingers through Zevran’s hair before twisting it into a fresh braid.

Alistair’s smile twitches at them, then fades.

 


End file.
